J. Marahuyo



Zowie Douglas-Kinghorn reviews Anne-Marie Te Whiu and J. Marahuyo

Two debut poetry collections stuck with me as outliers in the 2025 publishing landscape: Mettle by Anne-Marie Te Whiu and crying gorgeously; 4:37 am by J. Marahuyo, both of which stand apart in their eclectic subject matter and formal experimentation. Cleaving apart taboos and encrypting them into emojis, concrete poems and ancestral languages, these collections deal with everything from the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic to deep sea phenomena, the messiness of sex to family violence.

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Fistfuls of Sand

~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ ✧ ~~ we drove away the midnight fishers with the innocence of our existence clingingtooneanother like we hadn’t just met speaking …

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What even are we?

I remember calling you Donkey Kong because it matched your initials. And, you called me “Ate” (ah-teh) – big sister in tagalog because our culture is big on respect, big on our titles for those older, but I’m not sure …

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